Holding the Pieces Together
by impossibletheysaid
Summary: What happens if Lisbon's meltdown at the CBI wasn't an act? How would that episode have ended and what secrets would it reveal about both Jane and Lisbon? Mentions of suicide and other like topics, if you don't like, don't read. Will be Jisbon in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

Um so I thought of this. I will be uploading new chapters at the very latest every week, hopefully daily because I like this one. Based off the episode Red Badge. Grammar's not the best, sorry, I'm tired and editing takes a while so it looks like this.

Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist, if I did Jisbon would have happened a LONG time ago.

**Jane**

Starting about a year ago Lisbon had been acting so strange. She only spoke when spoken to; she kept her head down and would not make eye contact. She did her best to hide all of it, she was such a great actor that even I, Patrick Jane, failed to notice until now. Then everything started adding up. Lisbon threw a _chair _through the window, a chair! She had a total breakdown and I don't even know why. If there's one thing Teresa and I have in common it is our ability to shield our emotions. Though what would she want to shield from me? "Goddammit!" I cursed as I kicked the desk in front of me.

"Hey! What'd that desk ever do to you Jane?" laughed Rigsby from across the room.

"Haha, nothing! I just need to watch where I'm going!" I lied back.

I need to get out of here, I should find Lisbon and see how she's doing. Shut up, Jane. You know the only reason you want to see her is to make sure the rock that has kept you sane all these years will still be there for you. I keep muttering to myself, the argument inside my head so loud I didn't hear Bosco come up behind me.

"Jane. Hey, Jane!"

I snapped out of my thoughts and back into reality.

"Oh hey Bosco, what brings you here?"

"Maybe my job? Anyway Jane, you don't think Lisbon would do anything stupid do you?"

Of course, Lisbon. His thing for her is so obvious and annoying, I can't believe she doesn't see it.

"What? You mean like suicide? Nah she'll be fine, even if she did she wouldn't blame it on the CBI."

"Ok then if you're sure, should we send someone to check up on her? Just in case?"

"No. She needs some time alone."

In the back of my head there was a small nagging thought after that. Would she? I picked up my phone out of my pocket. One call to check up on her couldn't hurt, could it? I stared at the picture in my contacts, I took it after we had just solved a case. The sun was angled just right and there was a slight breeze to pick up her hair so it framed her gorgeous face just right. And those eyes, those beautiful emerald green eyes. I snapped the phone shut, this wasn't the right time for that and there would never be a right time for that. Why would she even care about me anyway?

I walked out of the CBI and headed toward my car. How about a little time off? It's not anyone would actually miss me. As I opened my car door, I pulled off my wedding ring and tossed it carelessly into the glove box. I didn't want anyone with me. Not now. I slammed the door shut and stepped on the gas. The tires screeched as I drove out of the parking lot. I don't know where I'm going, how about the airport?

When I reached the airport I took out my phone again and looked at Lisbon's picture. Was I really going to flee the one time she needed me, after she put up with me for so long? The answer was yes, if she didn't want me knowing what was wrong she could handle it on her own. I turned the phone off and tossed it into the car. I picked up my jacket, locked the car, and walked away heading towards the terminal to who knows where.

**Lisbon**

Breaking the window was alright I guess, but I needed more. When I got back to my apartment I shattered all the glass I could. Plates, glasses, vases, all against the wall. I didn't kill that man no matter how much he deserved it. Did I? How the hell would I ever know. All the evidence points to me so that's who it had to be, right? I barked out a half laugh half sob. Of course it was me, hell, even Jane's ignoring me so he _knows_ I did it. Or maybe he just hates me? Why should I care? They're going to either shoot me or cart my ass off to prison soon either way. Shooting seems like the much better option of the two right now.

I pull out my drinks from under the table. Might as well considering that's what got me into this mess in the first place. One bottle maybe. When that was gone I started on my second, and third, and fourth. Maybe I could drown myself with beer? That's an option.

Stumbling over to the stereo I turn on my favorite song and turn it up full blast. I then make my way over to the door and fasten the deadbolt, isolating myself from the world. No one cared before so why would they now? Still clutching my fifth bottle I sink to the floor and turn my face towards the ceiling.

"You proud of me now, Daddy? I'm just like you!" I yelled and screamed and drank even more until I threw up, then continued.

Imagine if the team could see me now, they'd be horrified. Strong Lisbon, brave Lisbon, happy Lisbon. I smirked. Happy. I haven't been that way for a long long time but somehow, I seem to pull off that emotion so well. Maybe it's because I want to be happy, but I could never achieve it. Happiness is for good people, not killers like me. Never me.

I'm actually surprised I managed to pull that off, I even fooled Jane. He never suspected that just beneath the surface something had cracked. The horrors I see every single day, the horror that my father inflicted on me and my brothers, have somehow seeped inside me, all the way to my soul. I grabbed a couple pill bottles and my razor blade collection out from under the couch. I smiled, I could kill myself like this, and that's exactly what I plan to do.

**Jane**

Then I was on a plane. I don't actually remember half of booking and boarding the flight. Where am I going again? I looked at my ticket. New York. Apparently I'm going to New York. That's okay I guess, it's away from here at least, but why there? Oh well, whatever. The stress was getting to me a bit, I looked to my left ring finger expecting the familiar golden band to be there but when I touched it, there was nothing. I vaguely remember tossing it off in the car, why did I do that? At least I wouldn't have to take it off now. I picked up my bag and headed to the small toilet at the end of the plane.

When I returned to my seat the seatbelt light turned on. I ignored it. I reclined my seat all the way back for it was now quite dark. I didn't sleep, though it's not like I ever do. My thoughts consisted of how I would survive without Lisbon. I knew I was being selfish, but I didn't care. She was my rock. Lisbon's just going through a little rough patch right now. It will clear up in a couple of days, everyone knows she didn't kill that man. She'll be completely fine I reassured myself. I needed her to be.


	2. Chapter 2

So I've been gone for ages. I'm really sorry about that but, life happens. I would like to say I'll be updating regularly now but to say that could be a lie. Well, here's the next chapter(finally)! Self harm trigger warning in this chapter, please don't read it if you know it will trigger yourself. If you have actually sort of stuck with this since I first published thank you so much for not totally giving up on me. Love you! xx

I do not own The Mentalist. The Mentalist owns me.

**Jane**

"Sir, we've landed, please exit the plane," an irritated flight attendant requested as she shook my arm.

"Oh, right, it has. Sorry I was just lost in my thoughts," I mumbled as I rose from my seat.

Once she had seen I was leaving she strode down the aisle no doubt to hurry along the remaining passengers. I wandered out slowly as I had no luggage with me. New York, why did I choose here again? It's so loud and bright; I usually prefer calm and quiet. I'm an idiot. I've traveled to New York from California with nothing, and this time Lisbon's not here to get me out of this. Ah! Lisbon, stop thinking about her Jane! She doesn't need or even want you near her. You need her though so you always put your thoughts before hers, and now she's gone.

You left California, Jane, not her. Why must that voice in my head always be right? Ok, so I left, she's much better off without me anyway. I just got in the way and that's exactly what she didn't need right now, with someone trying to frame her and all.

Now! To get some cash, because I didn't think to bring any of that with me either. I stopped at an ATM and made a withdrawal of $900 before I hailed a taxi from outside the airport. I left at roughly around 5:30 in California, I'm guessing, because New York is 3 hours ahead. Why did I even leave in the first place? I've never run away before, well not really. Not even when my wife and daughter were murdered. Of course I was in a mental hospital at the time so I don't even think the thought really ever occurred to me.

Water runoff from the street splashed up against my trousers as a yellow cab stopped suddenly in front of me. A friendly looking driver walked up to me expecting for me to have luggage, being outside an airport and all. I could see the confusion flash briefly across his face as he simply turned and opened the door with a pleasant hello. Too preoccupied with my own thoughts, I nodded and flashed a smile in his direction while sliding into the back seat. He shut the door on my side and walked around to his own. He looked young, mid-twenties maybe, judging by the bags under his eyes and lack of severe lines on his face, most likely a student at a local performing arts college. He had a head of light, moderate length blonde hair with beachy curls and lots of freckles on his face. His uniform was slightly wrinkled looking to have not been ironed in some time. The young gentleman slid into the driver's seat.

As he did so he turned to fully look at me and ask, "Where to?"

In that second it was like going back and looking at my younger self. With his carefree manner of life masking a point of stress and anxiety in his life. I wish I could just turn back the clock and become that man again. Maybe I could change things; maybe I could have avoided the deaths of Charlotte and Angela. But do I want things to change? If I reversed the clock I wouldn't have Teresa in my life.

"Ahem, sir?" The young driver asked seemingly concerned, "Where would you like me to take you? You've been staring out the window for a few minutes."

I cleared my throat, "I'm so sorry, I've been doing quite a bit more thinking now than in the past while and I guess I just got caught up in it."

He gave a shaky laugh, "No problem mister, happens all the time," he extended a hand, "I'm Jake and I will be your driver today by the way."

"Name's Jane, Patrick Jane."

"Nice to meet your acquaintance Mr. Jane but if you don't mind would you please give me a destination so we can get a move on?"

"But of course. Take me to your favorite local hotel, doesn't matter the price. I wasn't aware I would be coming here so I haven't actually made any plans."

"The Plaza Hotel it is then."

As Jake began to drive I began to think. About life, meaning Lisbon, because she is my life. I hate that. Thinking, no, _knowing _that I value another woman just as much as I ever valued Angela, maybe even more, yet leaving her just the same. Why did I leave in the first place? Because Lisbon threw a chair through a window? Hell, I've buried a man alive before and Lisbon stuck it out for me. _Why the fuck _am I off in New York when I could be helping prove my best friend's innocence in a crime I know she didn't exist and helping her get through it? It's like I was on autopilot through all the years of just shying away from my problems my immediate reaction was to leave when I saw hers.

Bosco's words ring in my ears, "You don't think she'd do something stupid? Do you?"

All of a sudden the memories I'd brushed away as simple coincidences rushed back into the front of my mind all clicking into place like the puzzle pieces that had fallen between the cushions. The days she came to work looking as scared as a mouse before a cat, the nights she brushed off all my attempts at staying with her at work or going out for food with a broken lilt to her silky voice. The days it was over ninety degrees and she still refused to remove her jacket or roll up her sleeves. The nights I went into her office and she was asleep on her desk smelling faintly of alcohol, vomit, and mint. It felt like a sucker punch to the gut. How could I, Patrick Jane, fake psychic extraordinaire, not notice any of this? I _do_ think she would do something that stupid damn it.

"Stop the cab!" I suddenly called out, startling Jake causing him to swerve and very narrowly miss the car next to him.

"Hey! What was that for?" He yelled back at me while pulling to the curb.

"I'm sorry I don't have time to explain! Give me your phone! Now! I'm a consultant for the California Bureau of Investigation and I have an emergency. You need to turn around and take me back to the airport right now!" I nearly screamed at the poor kid as I flashed my badge at him.

"Ok man calm down, I'm turning around now," he said as he tossed me his phone.

I dialed the too familiar number of Teresa Lisbon with shaky fingertips praying to anything that she answered. It rang for what seemed like an eternity, when it finally stopped I heard a ragged breath on the other end of the line. She picked up, she picked up I tried to calm the trembling of my hands because she was alright, right?

"Jane?" I heard the whisper of her voice come through. Before I could answer her I heard a slight thud.

'Lisbon? Lisbon!" I cried into the phone. I heard the tone ring through the phone. The line was dead. I tried dialing Bosco, I tried dialing Rigsby, Van Pelt, Cho, anyone, but no one picked up. Well of course, I mentally berated myself, it's 7:30 in California so they just got off for the night. Usually the only one left is, well, Lisbon.

When we finally reached the airport I all but threw Jake the full nine hundred dollars I had barely waiting to catch his stuttered thanks or even for the taxi to come to a complete stop. I bypassed every line by flashing ID and jumped on to the plane just before the engines started. The flight to Lisbon will take five hours. I just hope she lasts that long.

**Lisbon**

As the music played throughout my apartment, I drank more and more. My feet stumbling across the soft carpet in tune with the music and the spinning of my head. The phone began to ring. And ring and ring and ring. It finally stopped as my answering machine did its job.

"Hey Boss, it's Van Pelt, we're all working as hard as we can to find who did this, well, all excluding Jane. You haven't seen him have you? He's not with you? We've all tried calling him multiple times with no response. We might have a breakthrough in the case; I thought you'd like to know even though we're not technically allowed to tell you. We'll hopefully see you back in the office soon. Bye."

Van Pelt is such a good agent, and just about my only female friend. She might do well if she manages not to sleep with Rigsby. At this thought I gave a drunken snort. She's everything I have never been, never could be. She's not a murderer.

I grabbed my razors and half fell, half walked to the bathroom and flopped down with my back leaning against the bathtub. I was still wearing a suit jacket, I realized, as I lifted up the blade. When I shrugged it off my shoulders I looked down at my arms. So many scars, and I remembered where I got every single one of them. Yes, there were some from work, but the majority were from myself, inflicted mostly, in this very place on the floor.

I killed him, I killed him, I killed him. The mantra kept repeating over and over in my head, first slowly, then fast, then slow again. The words turning in my head, so focused on them the world around me became a blur. I dug the blade firmly into my wrist, not reacting to the pain at all. Murder. I am a murder. I shot him. The first line appeared. Then the second, and a third, and a fourth. Dripping from my wrist was the letter M. The blood bubbled up. U. The red liquid oozed out. R. It ran down my arm and onto my leg. D. A crimson puddle began to form on the floor. E. I deserve this. R. Why can't I remember? E. My body feels hot and sticky for I am surrounded in my own blood. R. My arm is a mess, as is the floor. The pain got through to my intoxicated mind, if only for a second. I was losing blood fast. In the heat of the moment with my thoughts consuming me I had cut deeper than ever before. I started to feel dizzy again and not because of all the alcohol very much in my system. My pocket began to buzz, my phone was still on. With my uninjured arm I shakily pulled it out and flipped it open. Maybe it was just because I wanted it to be him calling, or maybe I somehow read the caller ID through the fog before my eyes.

"Jane?" I croaked into the phone. I never heard a reply though, for I was already gone as my mind descended into darkness. My hand falling limp dropping the phone as my head hit the porcelain tub. My eyes closed for what I hoped would be the last time.

Thank you so much to those who reviewed my last chapter, I appreciate it a lot. xx


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